One Night In One Stanza

I take too many sleeping pills, and drink to much coke.
I've got that insomnia state of life, where the Sunday
Is Saturday is Friday for all the difference it makes.
There is only one day of the week, today. The divisions
That dissect hour to minute to second fall away as the
Memories replay. Her short black hair cropped back
In my fingers to the rhythm of her sway. Pale pink
Lips, natural and soft, pressed against the curve of
My neck. Tangled all tightly, my breathing heavy,
Her touch lingering lightly in the scars that she left.
Lovers don't sleep, rather are reborn in each others
Arms each morning anew. She's still here with me,
In the raised lines she left on my flesh. Whispering
In my ear as I cling to the fears of a life better lived.
And no sleep comes, because I'm a lover still, like
A phoenix with no urn, smoldering without fire,
I long with desire, for her reincarnating arms. I'm
The spoke of the wheel, the center of the cycle, the
Daylight berating, the night sky mocking what this
Murky life disjointed is lacking. The voice in the dark
That screams out for hearts to open just a little more.
I'm the day without work, the night without rest, the
Dusk without beauty and the Dawn without light.
The half missing the whole, the actor with no role,
The empty alley with no transient to call home. I'm
The computer's sterile glow, the tinny taste of cigarettes
And sleeping pills circulating at four in the morning.
I'm insomnia silently digging it's fingers through my
Hair and screaming out to in the thin night air.